


Tease

by draculard



Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sentences what sentences?, Verbs what verbs?, What even is this fic akcksjslflala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Pellaeon pulls back, rests his cheek against Thrawn's thigh. Feels blazing skin through the fabric, smells his arousal mixed with the soft clean leather of the command chair."Orders?" asks Pellaeon with a smirk.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	Tease

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm draculard there too

Kneeling at Thrawn's feet. Pellaeon's posture submissive, a peasant before his ruler, until his hands creep up and rest on Thrawn's thighs. Forcing the legs open — the muscles tensing at his touch, the subtle way that Thrawn leans into him, allows himself to be led. Gentle, insistent, pushing Thrawn's thighs apart until Pellaeon can kneel between them and feel the heat from between Thrawn's legs against his hand.

He's not surprised to find Thrawn hard. He ghosts a hand over white fabric, looks up at him, finds him playing the Grand Admiral again — impassive face, pristine uniform, unimpressed and not a hair out of place. The quick rise and fall of his chest betrays him. The glint in his eyes, the length of his cock against Pellaeon's hand.

Pellaeon pulls back, rests his cheek against Thrawn's thigh. Feels blazing skin through the fabric, smells his arousal mixed with the soft clean leather of the command chair.

"Orders?" asks Pellaeon with a smirk.

Darkening eyes. Tongue darting out to lick his lips. A breath too shaky to carry words.

Beneath Pellaeon's hand, Thrawn's thigh tenses and trembles. It's as good as a summons; it beckons him forward, calls him closer to Thrawn's uniform, to the crook of his open legs, to his skin. Fingers dancing over the outline of Thrawn's cock, feeling the length of it, stroking over the ridge of the cock head. Pressing his thumb down into the slit. Watching pre-cum soak through the fabric there.

He pinches at the base, striking the right balance between pleasure and pain, knows Thrawn prefers the latter; he manipulates the uniform between them, uses the fabric like a torture device, induces friction and heat wherever he can.

Until Thrawn's head falls back. Until his jaw tightens, until the cords of muscle stand out on his neck. Until he can't quite manage to stifle a breath that turns into a moan, rocks his hips in search of pressure, search of heat, search of skin.

Heat. The taste of salt. Blue skin on white.

He mutters something, something unintelligible, alien, accusatory. Pellaeon's fingers tighten around his shaft; his thumb swipes over the head again, pressing the fabric down ruthless, cruel, benevolent. The fabric wet against his tongue, the heat-solidity of Thrawn's body underneath.

In Basic, gaining control of himself, Thrawn gasps out two words: "—teasing me."

"You like it," Pellaeon replies.


End file.
